Mail
by tutncleo
Summary: Sometimes a letter can change our lives, and sometimes it only takes three little words.  Warning: this is a slash story, so if that offends you, please do not read.
1. Chapter 1

"**Mail" **

"_**Letters are expectation packaged in an envelope" - **_Shana Alexander

Part One – The Buildup

'_Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS' – that's how the small, light blue envelope that arrived in the daily mail had been addressed. Inside there was an engagement ring and a note that read:_

**Tony,**

**The fact I am resorting to sending this to you via the mail should say it all. I haven't seen you in person for three weeks. I understand your new job is demanding and that the work you do is important, but in a marriage there is only room for two partners, and I'm afraid that NCIS has usurped my place. **

**Stay safe, **

**Wendy**

_Tony removed the ring, stuck it in his breast pocket, crumpled up the letter and envelope, and pitched it into the trash can. He knew he should be more upset, but he just couldn't muster up the appropriate emotions. After all, Wendy was right. Even though it had only been a few months, when forced to make a choice, he knew he would opt for NCIS and Gibbs. Sighing, he slid the trashcan further under his desk, wanting to make her letter disappear. He then snuck a peek over at Gibbs, who had, of course, watched the entire thing without comment. Tony was sure the silver haired man knew exactly what had just happened. _

_And yet, despite the silence, Tony felt like they understood each other._

* * *

><p><em>The legal sized manila envelope was delivered to Gibbs with the early morning mail. Tony watched as his boss opened it up, scanned the multipage document, and then tossed it in the garbage. Neither man commented, although Tony knew it had to be the finalized divorce papers from Gibbs' last disastrous marriage. It was no surprise. There had been one acrimonious phone call after another for the last few weeks. This was just the logical conclusion. Rationally, Tony supposed he ought to feel sorry for the older man.<em>

_And yet, for some reason, he couldn't help but be glad._

* * *

><p><em>There had been the day a cream envelope had arrived, small and dainty, and sealed with a kiss. Tony had snatched the letter away from McGee, and opened it himself. For his troubles he had almost died. Still, despite that, Tony had been almost grateful for the letter because, after a week spent in the hospital, Gibbs had taken him home to his house. <em>

_And yet, even though nothing remarkable had happened between them, for one glorious week Tony had Gibbs' undivided attention, and knew he was important to the older man._

* * *

><p><em>Then it had all gone to hell. Kate died; Ziva arrived; the bomb blew up; Gibbs retired without so much as a goodbye; and Tony had been left trying to hold all the shattered pieces together.<em>

_And yet, for months on end, Tony had sat alone and waited for the mail. And every day his heart had broken a little more. _

* * *

><p><em>Finally Gibbs returned; long after Tony had given up waiting for a letter or postcard that might make sense of everything that had happened. Gibbs was different, though. At first, he'd been sporting that ridiculous moustache, and seemed gentler, less dictatorial. But even while that had lasted, there was a distance now that hadn't been there before. Gone were the shared glances between Gibbs and Tony, looks that made language seem irrelevant. Tony had told himself to give it time; it would get better. But after the moustache disappeared, things hadn't return to normal. For awhile Tony had attributed this to his own guilt over the deception Jenny was requiring of him. After all, Gibbs always seemed to have a second sense about when someone wasn't being honest. But then Col. Mann had appeared on the scene, and Tony began to give up hope that there could ever be anything between him and Gibbs. So he'd lost himself in his undercover operation. <em>

_Jeanne was different from most of the women Tony had dated, and even though she'd started out as a tool in his investigation, eventually she had come to represent an escape and a refuge from the ugliness that surrounded the day to day business at NCIS. When he was with her, he hadn't questioned his decision to give up the Rota promotion. He'd almost forgotten the years he'd spent jockeying for Gibbs' favor, and the perverse satisfaction that even a slap on the head brought. When he'd really tried, he could even pretend that the week spent at Gibbs' home, when they'd sat next to each other on the couch, staring at the fire place, content just to be with each other, had been nothing more than a boss' concern for an ailing subordinate. When he was thinking clearly, he'd reminded himself she was just an assignment, and that he shouldn't let things get out of control._

_And yet, even though he knew it was wrong, Tony had let himself sink into the comfort he found in her arms._

* * *

><p><em>But it had all blown up once again, this time literally, leaving him with yet another envelope. Tony had been glad for the child napping case. Searching for a baby had provided him with a much needed distraction, even though he hadn't been able to resist occasionally reaching up to pat the envelope he'd tucked into his jacket pocket. It was a letter that offered him, if not true love, at least an escape from disappointment, and he'd been sorely tempted to accept Jeanne's ultimatum. It hadn't been until he was sitting in that living room, watching his team laughing and sharing in the euphoria of a happy ending, that he had been sure how he was going to respond to the letter. When he'd looked up after having watched the note flare and then collapse into ash, he'd been surprised when his eyes had locked, ever so briefly, with Gibbs'. <em>

_And just for a moment, it was like the past five years had never happened._

* * *

><p>A very hung-over Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo eased his car into a vacant parking space and reached across the seat to extract his backpack, trying hard not to jostle himself too much. After gingerly climbing out of the car, he softly closed the door, not wanting to make any undue noise. He tried sliding his sunglasses off, but quickly gave that up when light poured in, and stabbing pain threatened to blind him. As he slung the pack over his shoulder, he resentfully wondered how it was possible for the sun to be so bright that early in the morning.<p>

'_Serves you right_,' he told himself as he shuffled towards the front entrance of NCIS, repenting the night before with every painful step he took.

He should have known better than to go out on a Thursday night, knowing he had at least one more day left in the work week, but after yesterday he needed the escape. Jenny, Mann, and an ex-wife, all at one time - talk about a cluster fuck. Oh, he'd cracked jokes about the situation, played the class clown, made sure not an ounce of jealousy or hurt ever showed, but the effort had taken its toll. By the time he'd finally left the Navy Yard, the last thing he wanted to do was go back to an empty apartment. So he'd gone to his neighborhood bar, where he'd flirted outrageously with every eligible man and woman just to prove to himself that he was still desirable, and slowly drank until he was numb.

He would probably still be in his bed, sound asleep, had not his one night stand awakened him at 5:00 a.m. to thank him for a wonderful night, and to let him know she was leaving. When he'd managed to crack open his eyes, he knew he should show her some gratitude, since the last thing he needed was to oversleep and piss Gibbs off by being late, but all he really wanted was for her to disappear. Once she was gone, he'd reluctantly rolled out of bed and staggered off to the bathroom, hoping steam and hot water would improve the way he felt. When that proved to be wishful thinking, Tony had turned the shower off, cleaned his teeth, run a comb through his hair, and then stumbled back into the bedroom. After sitting on the side of the bed, waiting in vain for some kind of miracle cure, he'd finally forced himself up and had gone to find something to wear. At last, with nothing better to do, since one look at the box of cereal in the kitchen had convinced him that food was a bad idea, he'd given up and headed to work.

Regrettably, knowing why he felt so bad didn't help Tony as he made his way through the lobby, head down, sending out silent '_don't talk to me'_ warnings to everyone around him. The elevator had been mercifully empty, and when he got up to the bullpen he was surprised but relieved to find that the rest of the team was not in yet. Checking his watch, he saw why; it was only 6:25. That explained things. It only felt like he'd been up for hours already. He should have at least two hours before Ziva and McGee showed up, he thought. With any luck at all the pounding in his brain would have receded into a dull ache by then. Easing down onto his desk chair, he slowly gazed around the room.

It was funny how much you could tell about the people that worked in a place just by looking at their work spaces, he mused. McGee's desk was a jumble of file folders, note pads, and various tech gadgets. Vying for room were a few small framed photos and the coffee mug, shaped like a computer monitor, which Ziva had given him for Christmas. Sitting on the shelf above his file cabinet was a LED binary code clock that had been from Abby, and even the herpes plush toy that Tony had given him for his birthday sat out to be admired. On the bulletin board next to his desk were more pictures of his family and the team, taken at various places and spanning a number of years. All these things spoke of a man that appreciated having a place in which he belonged, and people that loved and accepted him.

Ziva's was the opposite. Like McGee, she had a collection of folders on her desk, but hers were neatly stacked, all corners squared up with a kind of compulsive precision. Next to the folders sat a few newspapers from yesterday that she hadn't gotten around to discarding yet, and even though the Washington Post sat on top, Tony knew there would be at least two foreign language papers in the collection. A sleek black glass held a collection of pencils, all the same height, sharpened to fine points, just waiting to be used. Pinned to her bulletin board were printouts of the FBI's and Interpol's most wanted lists, and Tony knew from experience that she checked on updates to these on a daily basis. The only incongruous items in the entire space were the latest copy of Vogue tucked away in a far corner on top of a filing cabinet, and a soft green angora sweater draped across the back of her chair. Tony couldn't help smiling when he spotted those things, at such odds with the tough as nails, no nonsense image Ziva tried to project. To an astute observer, they should serve as a reminder that there was more to Ziva than met the eye.

Next, Tony's gaze wondered over to Gibbs' desk. The chair was pushed in, his inbox and outbox empty and waiting for the new day. No file folder, pen, or even a stray piece of paper, marred the pristine sterility of its surface. There was nothing pinned to the wall, no personal items out for display, no clues at all as to the personality of the owner. Looking at his station, no one would guess that the occupant had been married several times, had fathered a little girl he'd loved dearly, or was a highly decorated Marine. There were no magazines or books to suggest that the owner spent hours hand crafting a boat in his basement. There were no hints that this was a man who demanded, and received, unconditional loyalty and respect from his subordinates, who had a firm set of rules of conduct that he subscribed to. A man who was willing to doggedly do whatever was necessary to solve a case, and offer some kind of closure for those that had been wronged. This was a space in which the lack of items said more about the person who occupied it than any personal relics ever could. Looking at the space, Tony wondered how he'd ever been presumptuous enough to believe that he could tell what Gibbs was thinking or feeling.

Shaking his head, Tony looked at his own desk. There were file folders of cold cases, a collection of small notebooks containing hastily scribbled notes he'd taken during various investigations, and a scattering of pink phone message notes, all mixed together in a jumble. His pens and pencils were held in a beer stein decorated with the crest of his college fraternity. A Mighty Mouse stapler sat atop a pile of reports he'd been reviewing, and pictures of spring vacations spent in Cancun, Fort Lauderdale, and Virginia Beach decorated his corkboard. '_Man-child, hopelessly arrested_,' was his first thought. This notion was supported by the way he felt that morning, and the cause for his condition. If you knew where to look, though, there were other things about his desk that revealed even more about, things that no one else could see. There was the stack of pictures tucked away in his top desk drawer, photos of Kate, McGee, Ziva, Abby, Ducky, Jimmy and Gibbs. And then there was the bottom drawer. A drawer filled with the medals and awards that Gibbs had won over the years, more precious to Tony than they would ever be to the man who'd received them. What did that say about him, Tony wondered, cherishing things that weren't even important to the person that owned them?

"Think you're at the beach, DiNozzo?" Gibbs barked, saving Tony from further self flagellation. Apparently the older man had arrived while Tony was lost in his own thoughts.

"What…." Tony began to ask, as he tried to pull himself out of the fugue state he'd allowed himself to sink into.

"Your sunglasses," Gibbs clarified.

Tony slid his glasses off, wincing as the glare from the fluorescents reminded him of why they'd still been on. "I just got in," he offered by way of explanation.

Gibbs took in the bloodshot eyes, the faint trace of a hickey sneaking out of the collar of Tony's immaculately pressed white dress shirt, and the slight pallor of the younger man's skin without comment, even though his gut clenched in an all too familiar reaction to the pangs of jealousy he couldn't seem to control. The last thing he'd needed today was for Tony to arrive looking like he'd spent the night drinking and fucking.

"You're here now, so find us a lead to follow on the Jackson murder," he ordered gruffly, referring to a case they'd been working on earlier in the week, before they'd been pulled off of it to deal with the case they'd just wrapped up.

Suppressing a sigh, Tony moved the Mickey Mouse stapler and dug out the appropriate file, watching out of the corner of his eye as Gibbs sat down at his own desk and aggressively punched on the computer, as if it had offered some personal affront that only Gibbs had been able to hear. It looked like it was going to be a very long day.

Gibbs sipped on his coffee, frowning slightly while he waited for his email to load. He'd been surprised when he got up to the bullpen this morning and found Tony already there. The last person he'd expected to see at 0630 was his senior agent. On any other day Gibbs would have enjoyed being alone at work with Tony, a reminder of their earliest days together at NCIS, but not this morning. Today he'd come in, wanting some time to himself while he tried to shake off last night's melancholy. Unfortunately the world seemed to be conspiring against him, he thought, as he scanned his inbox and saw there was an email from Hollis. Resisting the urge to click on delete, he opened the message and read what she had to say.

**_Jethro, _**

**_ I know seeing Stephanie yesterday must have been hard for you, and I'm so sorry I made the day even worse by snooping. We can't leave things the way they ended last night, though. I am so sorry that hearing your daughter's voice brought up such painful memories for you, but you must know that I would never intentionally do something that would cause you pain. I had no idea that was what would be on the tape when I turned it on. That was what I was trying to explain to you, when you insisted I leave. Since you refused to answer any of my phone calls last night, I thought you might respond to an email. I 'm sure that if we could just talk about things, we could find a way to make it work. Don't freeze me out, Jethro. Please call._**

**_ Hollis_**

That was the problem, though. Gibbs didn't want to make things work out; it had just taken the events of last night to drive the point home for him. Granted, they had a nice time at dinner, and he had returned to the house with every intention of taking her to bed that night. But after listening to Stephanie talk about how things never seemed to work out for her, he'd known he had to end it with Hollis. He couldn't just let things continue the way they'd been going. Hollis was starting to talk about spending the rest of their lives together, and it just wasn't fair to her. Three convenient, but loveless, marriages were enough for him. He couldn't do the same thing to Hollis. Hearing Shannon's and Kelly's voices echoing through the basement had made it crystal clear to him. How could he continue to string Hollis along just because she was eager and willing, when he knew he didn't love her? It was better end things now. Let her think of him as a cold hearted bastard; that would be fine as long as it gave her the chance to find someone who could truly make her happy.

Not that he was incapable of love, quite the opposite actually. Gibbs still loved Shannon and Kelly ferociously, and sometimes he would sit in his basement for hours, replaying the tape over and over again, just to revel in the warmth of their voices. Then there was NCIS and the people he worked with. Gibbs couldn't deny that his affections for Ducky and Abby went deeper than the typical friendship one often felt for coworkers. Ducky was a surrogate parent to Gibbs, the only other person, aside from his own father, who could immediately see through Gibbs' barriers and was willing to call him on it. And Abby, dear, sweet Abby, who reminded Gibbs on a daily basis what it was like to be a father. She could exasperate him with her tendencies to babble , worry him with some of her lifestyle choices, and sometimes even anger him, but he had no trouble forgiving it all because he loved her. Then there was Tony…..

Gibbs turned his gaze away from the monitor and snuck a peak at his senior officer. Tony had taken the sunglasses off, and was sitting head down, poring over the case file as directed. If they had missed something on the case Tony would find it, Gibbs thought with an inward smile. He loved watching Tony work when the younger man didn't think anyone else was looking. He would give himself completely over to a task, letting all of the pretense and posturing that he normally wore as a kind of shield slip away, allowing his true intelligence and drive to shine forth. Most people took Tony's wit and charm for granted, but they often forgot that it was really his intuition, coupled with his keen ability to read people and situations, that made him a truly good detective. Gibbs knew his 'gut feelings' had become legendary at NCIS, but Tony's were no less finely tuned.

At that moment Tony glanced up from the file he'd been perusing, and his bright green eyes locked with Gibbs'. When his right eyebrow shot up in an unvoiced question, Gibbs jerked his gaze away and refocused on his computer screen. Gibbs heard, rather than saw, the sigh which escaped from the younger man. The last thing he wanted right now was to have any kind of meaningful discussion with Tony. As a matter of fact, Gibbs had been resolutely avoiding any situation in which that might happen for quite some time, half of him afraid of what he might say, and the other half afraid of what he wouldn't say.

Gibbs was used to being very sure of himself, and it bothered him that he was unable to think about his senior officer without being besieged by conflicting emotions. While he'd been down in Mexico during his abbreviated 'retirement', some of the first memories that returned to him were those involving Tony. There had been glimpses of Tony cracking jokes and goofing around at work. He'd remembered evenings they'd spent in his basement, where Tony sat on the steps, munching on pizza while watching him work on his book. He'd had snatches of images of Tony in a hospital bed, and slowly he'd recalled bits of Tony's near miss with , and the week Tony had spent at his place recuperating. Mixed with all this had been memories of Shannon, and Gibbs had been shocked when he realized he felt the same kind of love for Tony that he had for her. He had days waiting for more memories to emerge, confused as to the nature of his relationship with the younger man. Finally, when weeks had passed and Gibbs had still not completely sorted out where things stood between himself and Tony, he had broken down and awkwardly broached the subject with Mike Franks.

"So Mike, before this all happened, what did I say to you about DiNozzo?" he remembered asking.

Franks had snorted, "More like what you didn't say, don't you mean?"

"What are you talking about?" Gibbs had demanded.

"Probie, how many years did we work together?" the older man had asked, not pausing for a reply. "You think I can't tell when you've got the hots for someone? Though I gotta say, caught me by surprised, what with DiNozzo being a brunette and a _him_," Franks had laughed.

Gibbs had still been trying to formulate a response to that when Franks had squinted and fixed him with a hard look. "You ain't clear on him, are you? Well, ain't nothing happened between you two; though that'd be your fault, not his. I could tell that just by watching the boy while you were in the hospital, when he didn't think anyone could see him – all unrequited love. Just like in some stupid assed soap opera. DiNozzo has a major hard-on for you. Shit, Jethro. You're no idiot, you must have known. Not sure what you were waiting for, Probie. Were you all worried about some damned outdated Marine code of conduct thing? Or was it one of those cockamamie rules of yours?"

"Rule 12," Gibbs had answered instinctually, although at that time he still wasn't clear on just what all of his rules were.

"Ya, how's that rule working out for you?" Franks had laughed until he'd doubled over from a coughing fit.

Gibbs remembered wanting to slug Mike, because the answer to that question had been, 'not so good'. Instead, he'd stalked off and taken a walk on the beach. When he'd returned neither of them had brought the subject back up, but Gibbs had thought about it every day since then.

Of course, that hadn't done him much good. Shortly after he'd returned to D.C, it became clear that Tony was involved with someone. Gibbs had told himself that Franks had been wrong, so when he'd met Hollis, he'd pursued her, looking for a way to drive away his feelings for Tony. He'd even been able to kid himself into thinking it had worked - until last night.

Needing to put some distance between himself and Tony, he stood up. "Going for coffee," Gibbs gruffly informed the other man.

Tony looked up from the Jackson file and watched Gibbs stalk out of the bullpen. '_What was up with him this morning_,' Tony asked himself, as Gibbs got into the elevator. He was used to his boss' temper, but usually something had to trigger it. How could something have gone wrong this early in the day? This was just what he didn't need, an angry Gibbs first thing in the morning, especially when he was trying hard to overcome the hangover from hell. '_Remind me again why I'm still here at NCIS_,' he asked himself. '_Oh yeah, it's because I'm hopelessly in love with my boss. Maybe I should tell him – brighten up his day a little. That would turn out great, I just know it,'_ he snarked at himself silently. Snorting in disgust he shook his head gingerly, mindful of the steady pounding behind his eyes. Self pity wasn't going to get him anywhere, and after all, he'd made the choice to here, so he'd better just suck it up.

When Gibbs got back up to their floor, carrying two coffee cups, Tony was still at his desk, scouring the reports looking for anything they had missed in their initial investigation that would give them some kind of lead. He held two pieces of paper in his hands, and seemed to be cross referencing information.

"You gonna be able to keep this down?" Gibbs asked, as he clunked one of the cups down on the younger man's desk, unable to resist the urge to let him know the hangover had not gone unnoticed.

Tony started, and then looked up. "Thanks, Boss. Think I can manage it," he answered, trying for his usual cheeky grin, but falling somewhat short.

"Got anything yet?" Gibbs asked as he made his way back over to his own desk, eager to get away from Tony's smile.

"Maybe," Tony surprised him by answering. "I was looking over the witness interviews and comparing them to the license tag identifications from the cars that had been in the area when the body was found."

Lt. Commander Jackson's body had been found in a hotel by a maid, who'd come in to change the bed linens. When the team had gotten there, Ducky had estimated that the officer had only been dead for about an hour. McGee and Ziva had been dispatched with orders to canvas all of the rooms at the hotel, hoping someone had either seen or heard something that would give them a lead, but nothing had turned up.

"Yeah?" Gibbs urged him on.

"All the cars in the parking lot matched up to people staying at the hotel, except for one. There was a late model Camry that is registered to a Thomas Middleton. Ziva and McGee never interviewed him," Tony told him.

"What do you know about him?" Gibbs asked.

"Give me a sec," Tony said, spinning around and typing something into his computer. A few minutes later he announced, "No record. Works for an investment firm. Lives at 1329 Hamilton Drive, Apt. 11A."

Gibbs looked at the email he'd been avoiding dealing with, and then back at Tony. Making a decision, he punched delete and then barked, "Grab your gear, DiNozzo."

"Ah Boss, what about Ziva and McGee?"

Gibbs looked at his watch. It was only 0700. His other two agents weren't due to be in for another two hours. "Won't take that long to check this out and it doesn't require all of us. If you get a move on it, we should get there before he leaves for work."

"Right," Tony agreed, reaching under his desk for his field bag. "Besides, we can call them if it takes longer than we thought." He was already feeling better. '_Pretty sad when just the prospect of being out in the field alone with Gibbs is an instant remedy,' _he scolded himself.

In less than twenty minutes they were standing outside the apartment complex. A couple exiting the building on the way to work saved them from having to press Middleton's buzzer and announce themselves. When they got up to the eleventh floor it took them very little time to locate the appropriate door.

Gibbs knocked, while Tony stood to the side.

"Hang on a second," a voice from within called, and a few seconds later the door opened a crack and a middle aged man with slowly graying hair peered out. "Can I help you?"

"Thomas Middleton?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, who wants to know?" the man said, suddenly sounding slightly defensive.

"I'm Special Agent Jethro Gibbs and this is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. We're with NCIS, Naval Criminal Investigative Services. May we come in for a few minutes?"

The man stepped back, as if to let them in, so neither Tony nor Gibbs were prepared when he suddenly slammed the door shut.

"Shit," Tony hissed, at the same time Gibbs pounded on the door and demanded, "NCIS, Middleton. Open up."

Middleton had just gone from being a person of interest to their number one suspect.

"Where the hell does he think he's going to go?" Tony asked, alluding to the fact that they were on the eleventh floor of a high-rise apartment building.

"Don't know, but guess we're going to have to do this the hard way," Gibbs grunted.

Now that Middleton had essentially fled from them, they had probable cause to enter the apartment. Drawing their weapons, Tony backed up, preparing to kick in the door. It took three tries, but finally the door gave way. They entered rapidly, aligned themselves side by side, guns held aloft. They were standing in an entryway of an open plan living room/dining room. Middleton was nowhere to be seen. Spreading out, they soundlessly searched the room, making sure he wasn't hiding in the kitchenette or behind a piece of furniture. That left the two closed doors along the side wall. One would lead to a bathroom, and the other to the bedroom. Behind one of them was their suspect.

Tony looked over at his boss, and raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry. Gibbs made a quick assessment, then pointed his gun towards the door farthest away. Judging from its placement, he assumed it would lead to the bedroom, and it made more sense that Middleton would gone into there.

Once they had stationed themselves on either side of the door, Gibbs called out, "You've got nowhere to go. Come out with your hands raised, and then we can deal with this." He was hoping the man would realize that hiding from them was a lost cause. There was no answer, although they could now hear some movement.

"Middleton, this isn't going to turn out well. Open up the door," Gibbs called one last time.

Silence was their only response. Gibbs looked over at Tony. There was no need for discussion; years of working together had honed their approach to situations like this. Tony gave a short nod, backed up, and applied one well placed kick to the door, right below the locking mechanism.

After that, several things seemed to happen simultaneously. The noise from the shattering of the door coupled with the loud discharge of a gun. Before he had fully righted himself from the forward momentum caused by breaking down the bedroom door, Tony felt something hit him on the head. As he began to sink to the floor, he heard more gunfire, but when his head slammed on the edge of a marble topped dresser, he lost consciousness before he could tell who was doing the shooting.

Once Middleton was down, Gibbs rushed over and kicked the gun out of his hand. A quick check of his carotid artery told him that the man was dead. Gibbs had his phone out, calling for backup and an ambulance as he hurried back over to Tony's side.

Kneeling beside the fallen man, heart beating wildly, he rolled Tony over so he could see his face. "DiNozzo, DiNozzo come on, open your eyes."

He knew Tony was alive, but couldn't really tell the full extent of his injuries because there was so much blood. Yanking off his jacket, he used the sleeve to try and wipe some of the blood off the younger man's face. "Damn it, Tony, wake up," he cursed softly as he studied his senior agent. Gibbs felt a bit better after he'd cleaned off Tony's face. He could see where the bullet had hit, but it looked like it had been more of a graze than a direct hit. Most of the blood seemed to be coming from a deep gash on his forehead, which was still bleeding profusely.

Tony thought he heard Gibbs calling to him, but for some reason he couldn't seem to open his eyes. Trying to pull himself together, it took him a moment to remember what had happened, and after he did, quite a few more moments to quell the panic that threatened to overpower him. _'Steady,'_ he told himself, _'freaking out isn't going to help.' _Nothing was going to help, he realized. He'd been shot in the head, and even thought things were still rather fuzzy, he knew from past experience what that meant. People didn't live over a bullet to the brain.

In the background there was a scream of sirens. "Help is almost here, Tony. Just hang on," Gibbs assured the man on the floor. He wasn't positive he'd been heard, but Tony's eyes had fluttered a few seconds ago, so he had some hopes. As he pressed the jacket against the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, Tony made a few thrashing movements. "Easy, just take it easy," Gibbs soothed, and Tony seemed to calm down again.

He could hear Gibbs' voice, Tony realized, as relief washed over him. If Gibbs was talking, then it most likely meant he hadn't been injured trying to capture Middleton. But supposing wasn't good enough. He had to make sure. Fighting the nausea and dizziness that was threatening to overcome him, Tony willed his eyes to open. At first everything was a confusing blur, but gradually Gibbs' face swam into focus.

"Are…..you…." he tried to ask, but the words were not cooperating.

"Shhh," Gibbs said, in a voice that sounded slightly strangled. "Don't try to talk. The paramedics will be here any minute."

"….okay?" Tony finished.

"Yeah, you're going to be just fine," Gibbs assured him, misunderstanding what the other man had been trying to ascertain.

Tony attempted to shake his head, which now throbbed with a pain that made his morning hangover a fond, distant memory. Swallowing down the bile that threatened escape, he tried again. "No…you…you okay?" he managed to stutter out.

"Christ, DiNozzo, I'm fine. Now don't talk anymore. Just rest." Gibbs was afraid he'd sounded gruffer than he'd intended, but he just couldn't believe it. There was Tony, lying on the ground, covered in blood, and all he wanted to know was whether _he_ was okay.

'_I'm fine.'_ That was what Tony had needed to hear. As long as Gibbs wasn't hurt, he could relax. He let his eyes close again and started to drift, which helped ease the horrible pounding in his head. This was probably for the best, he found himself thinking. By taking the bullet he'd bought Gibbs the time necessary to take out Middleton, before the man could re-aim his gun. In a way he'd save Gibbs' life. That was a comforting thought, and pride infused him. He found himself randomly wondering if that was how Kate had felt on the rooftop, right after she'd jumped in front of their boss, moments before Ari fired again and killed her. _'Too ugly, think of something else,'_ he told himself. He didn't want his dying thoughts to be about one of the saddest moments in his life.

His thoughts strayed back to Gibbs. Gunny, Leroy, Jethro, LJ, Jet….in his fantasies Tony had played with all those names, trying to imagine what he would call the older man in private, if things had worked out the way he'd wanted. Ultimately he'd decided it would have to be Jethro, because he just couldn't see calling the no nonsense, ex-marine by a nickname. Besides, Jethro suited Gibbs. One night, when he'd had nothing else to do, Tony had looked up the name's meaning on the internet and discovered it meant 'eminent and excellence'; those were two words he thought very aptly suited the man he loved, particularly excellence. Gibbs demanded excellence from those around him, and would never think of giving less than that himself. _'Hopefully when he thinks of me later, he'll know I tried to live up to his expectations,' _Tony thought.

There were things Gibbs would never know, Tony realized as he lay there. Things he had longed to say to the other man, yet never had. That notion made him sadder than the prospect of dying. But maybe he still had enough time left to get the most important out.

'_What in the hell was taking the ambulance so long?'_ Gibbs silently fumed as he stood guard over his fallen agent. Tony had lost consciousness again, and Gibbs was beginning to worry that he might have been wrong in his assessment of the injuries. On top of that, the backup had not arrived yet, which meant that when medical help finally got there, he would be stuck staying on the scene until he could hand it off to another team. What made it even worse was that he knew this was entirely his fault. He'd made the call not to wait for McGee and Ziva, and now Tony was paying the price.

"Hey, DiNozzo, come on and look at me," Gibbs urged, thinking it might be better to try and keep Tony awake.

'_Have to tell him,'_ Tony forced himself to focus. _'This is my last chance.'_

"Open your eyes. I know you can do it."

Unaware that he was following orders, Tony looked up. Gibbs was there, staring down at him. _'Now or never,' _he told himself.

"Gibbs," he started, his voice little more than a rasp. "Always wanted to say..."

'_Just tell him,'_ the voice in his head admonished.

"I love you."

There, he'd said it. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the expression on Gibbs' face. It didn't matter anyway. He'd be dead in a few minutes, but at least that was one regret he wouldn't have to take to the grave, he thought.

Gibbs never had time to formulate a response. Seconds after Tony had spoken, two paramedics, wielding a gurney burst into the room. Five minutes later he was standing alone in the room, watching as they wheeled Tony away.

End of Part One


	2. Chapter 2

"Mail"

Part Two – The Fallout

Gibbs glanced at his watch. 6:30 and he was still sitting at his desk. He'd sent Ziva and McGee home an hour ago, since it was a Friday afternoon and there was no way Jenny would assign them a new case with Tony in the hospital. It wasn't as if they'd been getting any work done anyway. He'd watched them out of the corner of his eye, texting and fidgeting. He knew they were talking with Abby, who was at the hospital with Tony, and that they were both eager to go see their partner for themselves. Now it was just him, alone in the bullpen, the way he'd originally intended to start this sorry day.

Once he'd gotten free from the crime scene, he'd spent the better part of the morning at the hospital, waiting to speak with Tony's doctor. As he had thought, the bullet wound had been little more than a graze, requiring stitches and some high powered, intravenous antibiotics to stem off infection. The more serious injuries had actually been the severe concussion and the gash Tony had sustained when his head had slammed into the dresser after he'd been shot. The doctor said he'd need to stay in the hospital for at least a day, while they monitored him for any lasting damage caused by the head trauma. Gibbs had asked it that was very likely, and had been assured it was primarily preventative, but since Tony was still very confused the doctor felt it was better to err on the side of caution. By that time Abby had arrived at the ER, having finagled the time off from the director. That allowed Gibbs to excuse himself, saying he needed to supervise the evidence collection at Middleton's apartment. It hadn't been a complete falsehood; he did want to make sure they discovered how Middleton had been involved in Jackson's murder, and more importantly, why he had felt the need to shoot his agent. But mostly, he wanted to avoid having to see Tony right then. Gibbs needed time to absorb what Tony had said.

The doctor had said Tony was confused. Gibbs wasn't sure what that meant exactly. Maybe Tony wouldn't even remember telling him that he loved him. So there he sat, trying to figure out how he felt about that notion. Intellectually he knew it would be for the best. Tony would be spared the embarrassment of having blurted it out, and he could try and forget it had ever been said. Then things could just go on like they had been. Unfortunately, Gibbs' wasn't sure his emotions agreed with that solution.

Ever since he'd returned from Mexico, he'd spent a lot of time trying to avoid thinking about his feelings for Tony. _'No point in wanting what you can't have,'_ he'd told himself on more than one occasion. He'd gotten so good at denying how he felt, that sometimes he could go days without dwelling on it. Dating Hollis had helped.

'_Hollis! Shit!'_ he thought. He still hadn't dealt with her email.

That relationship was over. Even if he hadn't already been a hundred percent sure about it this morning, he sure as hell would be now. There was a good chance nothing would ever happen between him and Tony, but it wasn't fair to carry on with someone else, not when he knew he could never truly love her. He needed to answer her. As he called up his email, he wondered if, in this electronic age, they still referred to messages like this as 'Dear John' letters.

* * *

><p>"….It was totally awesome! Major Mass Spec freaked out and started spitting out these random statistics."….."Mule of a different color, horse of a different color, what does it matter? Are they not both four legged animals you ride on?"….."That's an unfair stereotype! Not just geeks play RPGs."<p>

Tony thought he was hearing voices, but couldn't figure out what was going on. Everything seemed to be jumbled up. He wasn't sure where he was or how he got there. He could clearly remember going with Gibbs to investigate a possible suspect on a case, but then everything got kind of fuzzy. For some reason he thought he might be dead, but wasn't sure why. If that were true, though, why would he be hearing familiar voices? He tried to focus, but his efforts seemed to sharpen the pain in his head, so he allowed himself to slide back into oblivion.

"Maybe we should come back tomorrow."…"The doctor said it was to be expected."….."I thought I saw him move."….."Maybe he's waking up."

The Abby, Ziva, and McGee voices were back again. He strained to listen to them, but just as suddenly as they'd appeared, they faded away again. Tony was beginning to get agitated. Why was everything so confusing? Then he had a quick flash of memory. A gun had gone off. _'That's right,'_ he remembered. '_I got shot; in the head,' _and even though that was a disquieting piece of information, he felt better knowing what had happened. If he got shot, Tony reasoned, maybe he was in a hospital. That made sense, but he had no recollection of how he'd gotten there. Then another picture began to take shape in his mind. It featured Gibbs, kneeling over him, a look of concern on his face. "I love you," he thought he heard himself say. _'No, no, no!'_ he silently screamed. Oh God, had he said that out loud? To Gibbs? That was a panic inducing idea.

"You're awake!" Abby squealed, when Tony's eyes shot open. The bed jostled, and suddenly there she was, looming over him, so close they were almost nose to nose.

"Give him some room, Abby," Tony heard McGee say.

Tracing the direction of the voice, he turned his head slightly to the left and saw Probie and Ziva standing on the other side of the bed. The room light was dim, but he could tell that he had an IV drip of some kind. There was also the tell tale beeping of a heart monitor, which seemed to be beeping way too fast. He was definitely in a hospital. That made sense. After all, he'd remembered being shot, where else would he be?

"The doctor said you were going to be just fine," Abby beamed at him.

"How inconvenient," escaped from Tony's lips, as he recalled the other memory he'd had, the one featuring him spilling his guts to his boss. He'd made a death bed confession, and didn't even have the good graces to die.

"What do you mean?" Abby demanded, frowning at his words.

"Leave him alone, Abby. Did not the doctor say he might be disoriented when he woke up?" Ziva chimed in, sparing Tony from answering the concerned forensic specialist. Then, attempting to clarify things for Tony, she informed him, "You have a concussion."

In light of his revelations, he wasn't sure he was up to dealing with his teammates. Tony wondered if he could shut his eyes and pretend to be asleep again. Maybe they'd give up and go home. He discarded the idea almost as quickly as it had occurred to him, knowing it probably wouldn't work.

"The bullet?" he asked, leaving them to complete the question for him.

"Superficial," was Ziva's equally succinct answer.

"You have a really nasty cut on your forehead that needed to be sutured," Abby elaborated. "But it's the concussion they're really watching. You have to stop banging your head on things, Tony!"

"At least it's hard," McGee said jokingly.

"Hush up, Timmy. Tony was almost killed!" she snapped sharply, then pressed a kiss to Tony's cheek.

'_If only,' _Tony thought wryly, wincing slightly from the volume of Abby's response. Privately, he thought dying might be preferable to having to face Gibbs, now that he'd gone and opened his big mouth.

"It's okay. I'm still here, Abs," he soothed. "But I could use some air."

Abby cooperated by straightening back up, but in exchange she reached down and latched onto his hand. "It's just that I was so worried when Gibbs called and said you'd been shot. And then you just slept and slept and slept. I was afraid you would never wake up."

"Where is Gibbs?" Tony asked, before he could stop himself.

"I don't know. I thought he'd come here after work, but he hasn't shown up," she told him, clearly puzzled by that turn of events.

Tony wasn't surprised, even though her answer had sent a stab of pain shooting through his heart. He doubted the older man wanted to see him anytime soon. Then he processed more of what Abby had just said. "What time is it?" he asked.

"6:00," McGee informed him.

"So what happened?" Tony asked, partially out of curiosity and also to buy himself some more time to think about the mess he'd made.

Ziva and McGee took turns telling him the story. He learned that Middleton was dead and that they and another team had scoured the man's apartment, looking for an explanation for what had happened that morning. In searching information on his laptop, McGee had discovered a series of emails between Middleton and the dead Lt. Commander Jackson. Apparently the officer had been having an affair with an Admiral's wife, and Jackson had somehow stumbled upon that information. As far as McGee could tell, Middleton had been blackmailing Jackson for several months, promising to stay silent as long as the Commander continued to pay him two thousand dollars a month. A quick check of Middleton's bank account had confirmed monthly cash deposits of that amount. The last email McGee had been able to find had been from Jackson, requesting a face to face with the other man, at the hotel where his body was later discovered. They would probably never know exactly what had transpired, but their best guess was that there had been some kind of physical struggle between the two men, and Jackson had ended up dead. Maybe Jackson had refused to pay out any more money, perhaps Middleton had decided to up his demand and Jackson got angry; it was hard to say. Abby had been able to confirm through forensics that the gun Middleton had used in his apartment was the same one used to kill Jackson. So the case was closed, even though there hadn't been a satisfying conclusion.

Tony listened with half an ear during their recitation. Occasionally he asked a question, just to prove that he was still with them, but the facts made him sad. It was all so pathetic. No one was the good guy in the story. The Lt. Commander had been a liar and a cheat, Middleton a swindler and murderer, and now they were both dead. Two lives completely wasted. _'This is what I threw my life away for,'_ he thought bitterly as Ziva and McGee were winding down. It was almost too much to bear, he thought, as gave in and let his eyes close. His head ached and it felt as if he were weary down to the bone.

"Um, Tony, are you still awake?" he heard Tim ask.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm just tired," he apologized, forcing his eyes open again.

"Perhaps we should go. You will need your rest," Ziva suggested. "I am glad you were not seriously hurt, Tony. I would hate to lose you," she told him awkwardly and yet sincerely, and despite how he felt, Tony almost smiled. Ziva had such a hard time freely expressing any emotion other than anger, and her efforts touched him.

"You can't get rid of me this easily," he quipped, knowing a little humor would keep her from being embarrassed, and she rewarded him with a small smile.

Abby fussed over him for a few more minutes, finally agreeing to leave with the other two only after Tony assured her he was already starting to feel better. Before she exited, she remembered to tell Tony that the doctor had said he would probably be released the next day, and promised to come back in the morning so she could take him home. Tony thanked her, and said he'd see her in the morning, and then he was alone.

* * *

><p>Gibbs did not have a good weekend.<p>

He talked to Abby Friday night, who told him Tony was awake and seemed to be doing alright. She said he hadn't seemed to remember what had happened very clearly, but that Ziva and McGee had filled him in. Then she hesitantly told him that she'd arranged to pick Tony up from the hospital on Saturday and take him back to his apartment. When he didn't respond she said, "Of course, I don't need to do that, if you'd rather be the one to get him."

He assured her that her plans were fine with him, and was rewarded with an exaggerated "Ooookay," from Abby, who clearly thought something was hinky.

Before she could start questioning him, he told her he needed to go, and disconnected without so much as a goodbye. He then went to the basement, where he spent far more time consuming bourbon than he did working on his boat.

Saturday started out equally as bad. Hollis had gotten his 'break up letter' and called him at 8:00 a.m. to try and discuss things. That led to yet another hang up, this time from Hollis, right after she finally pushed him so hard that he was forced to bluntly tell her that not only did he not love her, he knew he wasn't ever going to.

Unfortunately, this was one to those weekends where he didn't have any obligations or plans. That meant no helpful distractions, so Gibbs spent Saturday afternoon and Saturday night brooding over the whole 'DiNozzo situation'. Abby had said Tony had trouble remembering what had happened yesterday. What would he do if Tony didn't remember what he'd said? He'd told himself last night that would be for the best, so why couldn't he let it go? He tried playing games with himself, making a mental list of why never mentioning Tony's confession was the right thing to do: _1. Rule #12, 2. Tony might not have meant it, 3. He had no idea what kind of experience Tony had with men, 4. Rule #12, 5. He sucked at relationships, 6. Jenny would make their lives hell, 7. There was too much of an age discrepancy, 8. Tony would drive him crazy with his nonstop talking, 9. He would only disappoint Tony, 10. Rule #12….. _But it didn't matter. No matter how many reasons he came up with for why their being together was a bad idea, one thought kept pushing its way to the forefront, '_I love him, too.' _Finally, he resorted to the bourbon again.

Sunday was no better.

* * *

><p>If it was possible, Tony's weekend was worse.<p>

As promised, Abby arrived bright and early Saturday morning to give him a ride home. Tony had not had a good night, and he found her almost manic energy hard to take. He'd fought off sleep for as long as he could the night before, hoping against hope that Gibbs would show up. Once 10:00 rolled around, he'd had to admit to himself that the older man was clearly not coming. That had pretty much solidified what Tony had feared. Gibbs didn't want to see him.

When they got to his apartment, Abby had insisted on coming up to his unit with him, despite his assurance that he was alright. "Just so I know that you get there okay," she'd told him.

Of course, that hadn't been it. She'd followed him in, checked to make sure there was food in his refrigerator, steered him to the bedroom, and insisted on fluffing his pillows and watching him get into bed. He endured it all in near silence, knowing there wasn't any point in arguing with her. She wouldn't leave until she'd convinced herself that he would be okay. Finally she'd grudgingly admitted that he should be fine for the day, but made him promise to call her that evening, just to check in. Tony crossed his heart and assured her he would, then almost wept with relief when she left. He loved Abby dearly, but all he wanted was to be alone. He had a lot of things to figure out, and number one on the list was how he was going to face Gibbs come Monday morning.

His physical condition didn't help matters. Contrary to what he'd told Abby, his body ached all over, and the headache from the concussion was not gone. The occasional throbs from the cut on his forehead only made him feel worse. Maybe he could call in sick, he thought at one point, but discarded that solution, knowing it would, at best, only buy him a few days. At some point he would still have to face Gibbs, and besides, he doubted there was enough time left in the world for the older man to forget what he'd so stupidly told him.

By Sunday, Tony had decided the only solution was to either resign or put in for a transfer, preferably to a team somewhere on the other side of the world. He didn't want to resign, though. He was getting too old to have to start over at some police force, and his only other choice would be to try and get a position over at the Hoover Building and with his luck, he'd end up on Fornell's team. That left getting a transfer to another team. Or he could ask for an 'at sea' posting. Jenny would probably be ecstatic if he did that, since no one ever seemed to want those positions. The added bonus to being on a ship was that he'd be working by himself, so maybe he'd be so busy he wouldn't have time to think about what he was missing.

He went to bed that night thoroughly depressed. It was his own damned fault, he told himself over and over again. He just had to open his big mouth, and now he'd have to live with the consequences.

* * *

><p>Gibbs got the Yard at the crack of dawn on Monday. He wanted to make sure he was there before anyone else from the team.<p>

He knew Tony intended to report to work. Abby had told him that, during a very uncomfortable phone conversation. Unable to fall asleep last night without knowing how his senior officer was doing, he'd broken down and called her, even though he'd suspected how the phone call would probably go.

"Gibbs!" she'd squealed when she'd answered the phone, delighted he was calling her.

"Abs," he'd acknowledged.

"So, what can I do for my fearless leader?" she'd bubbled at him.

"I was just calling to check up on DiNozzo," he'd said, trying for an air of nonchalance.

"So why are you asking me, then?" she'd asked, all the exuberance suddenly gone from her voice, replaced by a trace of suspicion. "You haven't called him yet, have you?" she accused.

"Just tell me how he's doing," Gibbs had answered, trying hard not to snap at her. He was already feeling like a coward, he didn't need her condemnation to make him feel bad.

"What's going on with you two?" she asked, totally ignoring what he'd said. "You know, when he was in the hospital he asked where you were," she said, delivering the coup de gras to his guilt trip.

"So he's home," he'd soldiered on.

"Yes, as you'd know if you'd picked up the phone," she'd huffed. "He's planning on coming in tomorrow, even though I think that's a terrible idea. His head hurt so badly yesterday, he could hardly focus his eyes. You could call him and order him to take a couple of days off. He always listens to you."

"Thanks, Abs," he'd said, disconnecting before she could say anymore.

He felt a little better that morning, recalling the conversation as he walked across the parking lot, heading in to work. If Tony had asked for him he probably didn't remember what he'd said in Middleton's apartment. That meant he had some time to decide what he was going to do with his new knowledge.

By the time he had his coffee and was sitting down at his desk, he'd managed to convince himself that his weekend of anxiety had been pointless. He was going to do absolutely nothing with the information. It was for the best, since it was clear to him that Tony wasn't prepared for anything to develop between the two of them. After all, there had been lots of times over the years when they had been alone; Tony could have pursued it on any one of those occasions.

Decision made, Gibbs settled down to organizing the day's business. The director was at a conference for the next two days, which meant he would be making the day to day decisions at NCIS while she was gone. For that reason, his team would be on stand down. He had argued against it last week when she first brought it up, but now he was glad for the breather it would give Tony. And since they wouldn't be going out in the field, Gibbs thought it was the perfect chance for them to get caught up on the paperwork that had begun to stack up.

Ziva and McGee beat Tony in that morning. Gibbs had actually started to wonder if Tony was going to call in sick, after all, when the elevator doors opened and a worse for wear DiNozzo exited. Gibbs watched as he made his way to his desk. He still had a large dressing on his forehead that covered both the cut and the path of the bullet, and the skin surrounding it was bruised and slightly swollen. His gait was less energetic than usual, and Gibbs was glad they were going to have a slow day. He returned his teammates greetings, and merely nodded his head in Gibbs' direction, never making eye contact, as he eased himself down onto his chair. Before Gibbs could say anything, Jenny's secretary called, and wanted him to come and sign off on some paperwork that another team had just submitted. He sighed as he hung up, knowing this was going to be the way the day went, barked out instructions to his own people, and headed for the stairs.

Gibbs had very little time to himself that day. There seemed to be one thing after another that demanded his attention. Thankfully, his team seemed to be self sufficient. Every time he breezed through the bullpen they were sitting at their desks, diligently working. He never stopped to consider how quiet it was or that there didn't seem to be any of the usual horseplay, but if he had, he would have attributed it to Tony's not feeling well. It wasn't until 4:00 in the afternoon that he got to sit down at his desk and begin to wade his way through the daily email.

As he scanned down the messages in his inbox, deleting most before he even bothered to open them, he was surprised to see one from 'Anthony DiNozzo'. The subject line was very brief; it read 'Assurance'. Wondering what that meant, Gibbs glanced away from his screen and over to his senior officer. But Tony was apparently totally absorbed in whatever he was reading on his computer, and never looked Gibbs' way. With no clue as to what he was going to find, he turned back to his email and called up the message.

**_Gibbs,_**

**_ I wanted to let you know that I intend to put in for a transfer when the director gets back from her conference. If you don't think you can work with me until the transfer comes through, I can take my vacation time. I have several weeks stockpiled. Anyway, at the risk of making you even angrier, I am sorry._**

**_ Tony_**

Gibbs had to read it twice to truly absorb what it said. _'Well, so much for Tony not remembering,' _he thought when he was done. The email also explained why Tony was so silent today. It wasn't because he felt ill, it was because he was miserable. His time to think about what to do had just evaporated. He needed to address this now, before Tony did something they would both regret. Hitting the respond button, he started to type.

* * *

><p>Tony had been rereading the same sentence over and over again, ever since Gibbs had sat down at his desk and turned on his computer. Try as he might, the words all ran together, and he couldn't decipher any meaning from them. At one point he'd considered going to the restroom, but he didn't want to stand up and call attention to himself, so instead he just sat there as the tension mounted.<p>

When his computer beeped, letting him know he'd received a new email, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Minimizing the page he was on, he went to his mailbox. There it was, what he'd been expecting, Gibbs' answer.

**_My place, 1900 hours._**

That was all it said!

"_What does that mean?'_ he asked himself. Apparently Gibbs had things to say to him he didn't want to put in writing. Tony supposed he could understand that. He was going to have to show up, it was only fair. After all, he'd had his say; that's what had caused all this. It was only fair to allow Gibbs to say what he wanted.

Tony thought about replying, and then decided there was no point. Gibbs' email had been an order, not a request. He did wonder if he should pack up his desk before he left for the night, but that would lead to having to give some kind of an explanation to Ziva and McGee, and he didn't feel like he was up to that at the moment. He snuck a peak at his watch and saw it was 4:10. _'Thank God, less than an hour before I can get out of here,' _he thought. He almost wished Gibbs had asked him to be over earlier than 7:00 p.m. He just wanted the whole sorry thing to be over.

The last fifty minutes of the day seemed to take forever. When Gibbs finally dismissed them, Tony grabbed his bag and headed for the elevator with far more speed than he'd had at the start of the day. McGee and Ziva followed close behind, offering to get a bite to eat with him if he wanted. When he begged off, saying the day had taken its toll on him but promising to do it soon, he wondered if he'd ever get the chance. For all he knew, this could have been his last day on Team Gibbs. With a heavy heart, and two hours to kill, he headed home, figuring he might as well grab a quick shower and choke down some food. 'It won't do to have your stomach growling while Gibbs is ripping you a new one,' he told himself.

* * *

><p>Tony parked his car in front of Gibbs' house at 7:00 on the dot. That had not been an accident. There was no way he was going to be late, so he'd left his apartment inordinately early, just in case he ran into traffic or some other kind of road delay. That meant he'd ended up driving around the neighborhood for the last fifteen minutes, but that couldn't be helped. Gibbs hated when people were late, and he wasn't prepared to do anything to make matters worse. He shivered slightly as he sat looking at the front door, not sure if it was caused by the chill of the evening air, or by his too taut nerves. 'Go on, the sooner you get in there, the sooner it will be over,' he encouraged himself as he climbed out and head toward the house.<p>

The porch light was on, even though it wasn't completely dark yet, and the crickets were just beginning to get warmed up. When he breathed in, he could smell the wisteria hanging from the fence next door. He loved this area, but tonight it held no charm for him. As he stood outside door, he silently deliberated with himself about what to do. Usually people just let themselves into Gibbs' house, but that seemed rather presumptuous tonight, given the circumstances. Gathering his courage, he knocked.

"Come on in," he heard Gibbs call from inside.

Gathering his courage, he opened the door and stepped in.

As Tony stood in the entryway, he could see Gibbs in the living room, crouched in front of the fireplace. He'd changed into jeans and a white t-shirt, and the glow from the burning logs cast a warm golden light on him.

"Go ahead and take a load off. I've got to flip these steaks," Gibbs called to him, without bothering to turn around.

Tony advanced further into the room. There weren't a lot of seating options, just an easy chair and the sofa. Two plates, some silverware, and a few condiments sat on the coffee table in front of the couch. Tony was seriously off balance. This wasn't the scene he'd been imagining over and over again, ever since he'd read the email that afternoon.

By the time he'd settled on the couch, Gibbs was on his feet. "I'm getting a beer. You want one?" he asked.

Tony dumbly nodded in answer. All words seemed to have failed him.

While Gibbs headed to the kitchen, Tony tried to pull himself together. Everything had taken on a kind of surreal edge. He'd steeled himself for a tongue lashing, and thought he was prepared. But you didn't usually feed someone dinner right before you verbally eviscerated them, so he had no idea what the older man was up to.

Gibbs was back, carrying two bottles of beer, long before Tony had managed to make any sense of what was happening. "The meat and potatoes are about done. I can throw together a salad if you want," he offered.

Tony started to shake his head in reply, then stopped and willed himself to speak. He couldn't spend the whole evening completely mute. "I'm good," was what he managed to come up with. _'What a stupid thing to say,'_ he silently chastised himself. _'Nothing like leaving yourself open.' _

Gibbs just nodded though, and headed back over to the fireplace. Reaching down, he lifted a pair of tongs off of a platter that was sitting on a stool, and proceeded to pull two foil wrapped potatoes and a couple of sirloins off of the griddle that sat atop the logs. After he'd placed the food on the platter, he carried it back to the coffee table, and distributed it between the two dinner plates.

The meal was eaten in virtual silence. Any other time, Tony would have enjoyed himself immensely. The steak was tender and juicy, and virtually melted in his mouth. Unfortunately, he was having a hard time swallowing. He didn't know if this was some kind of elaborate cat and mouse game, or what. Gibbs either didn't notice his discomfort, or chose to ignore it. Finally, when Gibbs put his empty plate down, Tony gave up pretending to eat and set his half finished dinner on the coffee table. Unable to stay silent any longer, he blurted, "So, are we going to talk about my email or not?"

Gibbs cocked an eyebrow at him, and casually said, "Didn't know there was a reason to, since you seem to think you know what I'm thinking."

That set Tony off. All of his pent up confusion, fear, and hurt unexpectedly morphed into anger, and before he could stop himself, he spit out, "Yeah, well it's not like I needed to be a mind reader. You not showing up at the hospital or checking in with me over the weekend were pretty big clues, don't you think? So I'm sorry, Gibbs. I'm sorry I'm not who you thought I was, sorry I fell for you, sorry I opened my big fat mouth, sorry I played into all your tough guy Marine homophobia, sorry you have to deal with me for a little while longer, and most of all I'm sorry I didn't have the good graces to die ." He had to stop there to catch his breath. He didn't know where all that had come from, but once he'd gotten going, he just hadn't been able to stop.

"You done?" Gibbs asked mildly.

Afraid of what else might come out, Tony could only nod.

"Good," Gibbs said, then reached over and hooked a hand behind Tony's neck.

Before Tony could react, Gibbs pulled him close and kissed him.

And Tony's brain shut down. His complete new world view, the one he'd spent the entire weekend constructing, shattered into a million pieces. Unable to even try to intellectually understand what was happening, he let his body take the lead. As they both sank back against the sofa cushions, he heard soft moans, and was shocked when he realized they were coming from him. He was even more surprised to discover that his arms were wrapped around Gibbs' waist. When his fingers slid under Gibbs' t-shirt and began to dance along the warm, smooth skin of his back, he didn't even question it.

"So, you still want to talk about the email?" Gibbs asked, pulling his lips away from Tony's just far enough to form words.

"Not now," Tony breathed, and then closed the distance between their mouths.

Gibbs didn't need any more encouragement than that. He'd originally intended to give Tony a small kiss, just to let him know he'd been wrong about how he felt. But when Tony slid his arms around him, all his good intentions simply evaporated. Kissing Tony felt more than right. It felt like coming home, after you've been away for a long time, like sinking down into your favorite chair, the one that has formed to your body over the years. It was comfortable, and peaceful, and yet unimaginably tantalizing, all at the same time and he wasn't sure he'd ever get enough of it. His tongue slowly eased between their open lips, seeking the wet warmth of the younger man's mouth. When its tip touched Tony's, they danced around each other, whirling and caressing. He let his hand that had been locked around the back of Tony's neck slide up until his fingers found purchase in the thick, rich abundance of brown hair, and he felt a shiver run down his spine, when he felt a hand mirror his movement.

Tony couldn't get over how soft Gibbs' hair felt. He'd always assumed it would be bristly, tougher, more like the metal its color resembled. He played with the hair, burying his fingers to the roots and sliding them slowly out, until the sleek silken strands had fallen away, and then repeating the process, enjoying the way the locks tickled his skin.

Lifting his head away slightly as he luxuriated in the feel of Tony's hand in his hair, he looked down at the younger man's face. His eyes were only half open, just black orbs thinly ringed with emerald green, and the firelight played up the curves and contours of his finely wrought features. His lips, pink and swollen from kissing, were curved up in a kind of contented, half smile that Gibbs had never seen before. He was beautiful, and Gibbs wondered how he'd ever been able to resist him.

Needing more contact than their present position allowed for, he gently took Tony by the shoulders and eased him down, until his head was on the armrest. Straddling the prone man's legs and placing his forearms on either side of his body, Gibbs leaned over him and began to run kisses along his jaw line. Tony tilted his head back, exposing his neck, and Gibbs took that as an invitation, trailing kisses from his chin down to the vee of the pullover Tony was wearing. Then, putting all his weight on his right arm, he used his left hand to tug the shirt out from the waistband of Tony's pants and push it up and out of the way, so he could touch the soft skin of his belly.

Goosebumps chased behind Gibbs' fingers as they explored the flat planes of Tony's stomach. When he reached the already stiff nubs of Tony's nipples, he was rewarded with a stuttered gasp. Chuckling quietly, he lowered his head and ran his tongue around the nipple, then blew softly over the dampened skin. He slid his tongue over to the other side and repeated the process, as Tony mewed in arousal and ground his pelvis against his hip. Gibbs felt his own body swell in answer. Things were moving faster than Gibbs had anticipated, and he needed to know that Tony was completely comfortable with what was happening, even though his body was giving off nothing but signs of approval.

"Let me know if you want to slow this down or stop," he said. He was pretty sure Tony was more than alright with where this seemed to be heading, but Gibbs didn't want him to feel like he was being pressured to go further than he was comfortable with.

"I'll shoot you if you stop," Tony moaned.

"Then let's take this somewhere a little more comfortable," he suggested. His knees were already beginning to protest, and he wanted to be able to take his time as he got to know every inch of Tony's body. Gibbs extracted himself from Tony's embrace and got off the couch. Reaching down, he extended a hand and pulled the younger man up. Then, already missed the warmth of Tony's body, he sidled up behind him and wrapped his arms around him. Nuzzling on the back of Tony's neck, he steered them towards the bedroom.

When they got there, Tony spun around until they were face to face. "It's my turn," he whispered, as he reached down and pulled Gibbs' white t-shirt off. "Perfect," he decreed, when well developed muscles and a hatch of curly, grey chest hair were revealed. This time he took the lead, kissing the older man while his hands slid up and down the smooth sides of his body. Occasionally Tony's fingers would dip down under the waistband of Gibbs' jeans, and his hips would thrust in anticipation. They stood there for quite some time, not bothering to speak, letting their hands and mouths explore one another's bodies, neither man in a hurry.

Eventually, they made their way onto the bed. Once Tony was fully reclined, Gibbs slowly began to undress him. When Tony started to help, Gibbs stayed his hand, saying, "Let me."

He removed Tony's shirt first, and then his shoes and socks. Next, he opened the waistband of Tony's pants and slowly pulled both them and his underwear off as one unit, dragging the material along the long expanse of leg. Gibbs' breath caught in his throat as Tony's penis, no longer encumbered by fabric, sprang free, darkened and erect and surrounded by a small mound of dark, curled hair that functioned like a picture frame. When the pants had cleared Tony's feet, Gibbs bent down and began to nuzzle and lick his way back up those legs, stopping his forward progression when he got to the groin. Once there, he traced his tongue around first one ball, then the other, then worked his way up the length of Tony's lightly weeping cock, until he finally opened his mouth and sucked in just its tip. As Tony's hips rose in response, he reached out with one hand to hold them still, as he let the shaft slide deeper into his mouth. Tony reached down and began to stroke his hair, the movement of his fingers matching the rhythm of Gibbs' mouth, as it glided up and down. Finally, when Tony's hands fell away and were clutching at the sheets, and his hips were becoming more insistent, Gibbs knew he had to stop.

"Not yet," he soothed. "Together."

Crawling up the bed, he placed a light kiss on Tony's lips, and then scrambled to the side of the bed. After kicking off the rest of his clothing, he reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out the supplies they would need. Once equipped, he rolled back over, until they were lying side by side again. "How do you want to do this?" he asked, not sure what the younger man's previous experiences had been like.

Tony turned his head, so he could see Gibbs' face. He had been surprised by the question, fully expecting that Gibbs would never even consider being a bottom. He was touched when he saw just a bit of wariness on the other man's face, and he immediately knew this wasn't an offer Gibbs was in the habit of making. "I need you, in me," he said, reaching out and stroking the side of Gibbs' cheek.

That was more than fine with Gibbs. He'd never done it the other way, although he would have been willing to try, for Tony. "Face to face," he said, easing his body back on top. When hard cock met hard cock, Gibbs groaned at the sensation. Tony's response was to spread his legs, allowing Gibbs to sink between them. Tony's hips gyrated, indicating his readiness, as Gibbs opened the tube of lubricant and squeezed a generous amount onto the fingers of his right hand. Watching the silver haired man, Tony drew up his knees, allowing Gibbs access to his entrance.

With one hand gently squeezing Tony's cock, Gibbs worked first one, then two, and finally three fingers into his opening. Tony eyes shut, and he began making small humming sounds as Gibbs prepared him. When pre-cum bubbled from the top of his penis, Gibbs deemed him ready. He sat back up and slowly withdrew his fingers, then reached over for the foil package that contained a condom.

Tony opened his eyes when Gibbs removed his hands from his body, and saw what the other man was preparing to do. "You don't need that for me. I know I'm clean," he informed his partner.

"Me too," Gibbs said.

"Then leave it off. I want to really feel you," Tony told him.

Gibbs lowered his right hand, and rubbed the remaining lube on his own engorged dick. After taking just a second to look back down and admire the perfection of the man lying on the bed in front of him, he leaned back over Tony's body. When their eyes met, Tony moved his legs until they were locked around Gibbs' hips, and wrapped his arms around the older man's back. Using one hand to align himself, Gibbs began to ease his cock into Tony, moving excruciatingly slowly. They moaned in tandem, as Gibbs slid in, one millimeter at a time, until at last he was fully seated.

Once he was all the way in, Gibbs paused, knowing he had to reassert his self control, or it would be over before it had really begun. It had been a long time since he'd done this with another man, and he had never gone bareback. Tony's tightness and warmth was indescribable, and he needed a few moments to adjust. When the younger man began to thrust his hips in encouragement, Gibbs bent his head down and captured Tony's mouth in a deep kiss, and then finally, he began to move.

He started slowly, almost lazily, easing himself very nearly out, and then working his way back in. Over and over again he teased as Tony's fingers clutched onto his back. Gradually, he allowed himself to build up speed, until Tony had stopped moving and was merely hanging on while Gibbs drove into him. When he knew he couldn't last much longer, he slid a hand between them and wrapped it around Tony's cock, working it up and down the shaft, synchronizing its movement with the thrust of his hips. As he felt Tony begin to come apart underneath him, he let go of his own self control, and moments later they climaxed together.

Gibbs allowed himself to collapse down on top of Tony. Although he was fully spent, he wasn't ready to break any of their physical contact. Tony reached up, and softly pushed the sweat drenched hair off of Gibbs' forehead.

"So, I'm guessing you don't want me to take my sick leave time," he grinned up at the older man.

"Ya think? And if you put in for a transfer I'll just fire you," he smiled back.

Knowing they couldn't stay in that position indefinitely, Gibbs sighed with regret, and then eased himself out and off of Tony. Once he was reclined on his back, he reached over, wrapped an arm under Tony, and rolled him over so that his head came to rest on Gibbs' chest. They lay like that in silence for quite awhile; Gibbs running his fingers through Tony's hair, and Tony chasing his fingers lightly across his lover's chest.

Finally, it was Tony who broke the silence. Very quietly, without looking up, he whispered, "I wasn't trying to force anything. I really did think I was dying, and it was my last chance to tell you."

"I know," Gibbs answered, as he continued to stroke Tony's head. "I'm glad you did."

"So, what now?" Tony asked.

"We rest, and if you're lucky we'll do it again later," was Gibbs' light reply.

"That's not what I meant," Tony objected.

"Don't worry. We'll figure it out. Together," Gibbs answered, and then he tilted Tony's head up and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, just to punctuate his point.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Lonely days are gone, I'm going home. My baby wrote me a letter." <strong>_

_**Joe Cocker**_


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